


Not-So-Stainless Steel

by stone_in_focus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Dean, Bunker Sex, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, Human Castiel, Humor, Kitchen Sex, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, POV Second Person, Poor Sam, Post-Season/Series 08, Smut, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3121151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stone_in_focus/pseuds/stone_in_focus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas farts. Dean eats leftover sushi. Somehow this escalates into an impromptu christening of the kitchen counter. (No unusual kinks, promise.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not-So-Stainless Steel

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I needed something stupidly fluffy after planning out some heavy scenes for _In All the Old Familiar Places._ No regrets. Except maybe for the title and the fact that I have to be up for work in less than four hours.

Seriously. This is the  _last_  time you let the dude get his hands on any jalapeño poppers before bed.

It's like ground friggin' zero right now as you struggle to untangle yourself from the arm he's got flopped over you and the knee that's snuck in between your legs. There's a weird-ass wheezing sound when you finally break free—or maybe that's just you scrambling for air—and you realize Cas still hasn't caught the train out of dreamland just yet, mumbling something about Gabriel and platypuses (you don't want to know).

You jab one of your toenails into his shin, and he snorts awake. "What the hell did I tell you about midnight snacking, huh? The list exists for a reason!"

"I'm sorry, Dean. They just…" He rolls over onto his back and slides a hand up underneath his shirt, ruffling the few scraggly hairs above his waistband in a way that might actually be kind of sexy if you didn't feel like, you know, gagging. "Really wanted to be in my stomach."

"Yeah, well, now your stomach clearly wants to shit those things out. Jesus, Cas."

He moans a little into the pillow and pulls the covers up, closing his eyes. You're pretty sure that's "Cas" for:  _Please see all the fucks I have to offer you, which is absolutely none._  

Ugh, douche.

"You ever think I might like to get a few winks in, too, before we have to get on that skinwalker case?" You try shoving him, but that doesn't get you any more of a response than the whole moaning thing again—and not the good kind of moaning—so you end up staggering into the kitchen instead, blankly staring into the  _holy fuck that's bright_  refrigerator for something that'll clear the nasal passages. You've never been much of a sushi person, but Sam has some leftovers with that wasabi shit you're thinking of snatching. That'll burn the nose hairs right off…the ones you still have, anyway.

You pull up a stool, making some questionable faces as you debate dipping what you think's a California roll in soy sauce, but then Cas comes dragging his ass in, half-doped up on sleep as he rubs his eyes and stumbles over to investigate.

"Dean, is something wrong? You're eating seaweed," he says as if it's a sign of another apocalypse.

Yeah, more like just trying to survive the fallout, but he's probably just gonna squint at you 'cause he doesn't understand the damn reference and you're just gonna get pissed because it's too fucking early in the morning for this and God why the fuck  _are_  you eating this fish food crap?

You push the plate away, palming the side of your cheek. "I'm…good, Cas. Fine. What're you doin' up?"

"I…seem to have a hard time ignoring that it gets considerably cooler when you leave."

He's doing that stupid-cute thing where he bites his lip and pretends to look away even though you know he's looking straight at you out of the corner of his eye. Not that you were really ever mad at him in the first place, but can't stay angry with someone that's clearly begging for your attention. Cas owes you a good ol' stroke of the ego after all the stroking you were doing only a couple hours earlier, anyway. "Yeah? That so?"

He nods, slipping a few fingers up the inside of your thigh, and swallowing's a little rough as he leans in to kiss that spot you missed shaving that day. He needs some trimming of his own, but it ain't exactly important once the tongues're involved, you breathing him in hot and deep as his fingers start getting a bit too greedy for your own good.

"Think you, uh…found a good heat source there," you finally say when you come up for air, or at least, that's what you mean to say. Not sure how well it translates when you're moaning into the notch in his chin and feeling, ugh,  _shit,_  those familiar pulses as he tugs at the elastic around your hips.

"I'm well aware." Cas plants a giant smirk onto your lips, dragging the cotton over the head of your dick so goddamn slow you just might plunk him down and make him Sit'n Spin it right there. The fucker's trying to make you whimper, and Dean Winchester doesn't fucking whimper.

(Except for just now.)

"Is that an angel blade in your underwear, or just your erection?"

The groan he earns this time ain't so much a whimper as a growl. "You're lucky you're cute, you know that?"

(You don't need to tell him that you're actually the one who's lucky. At this rate, he's going to be reminding you in about T-minus 60 seconds flat.)

The stool screeches like bloody hell as Cas nearly slams you into the counter when he gets all up on you, and—whoa, _hey there, buddy._ "Fuck, Cas, how're you so—"

"I missed you in bed. Started thinking about you and couldn't stop."

"Mmm, you know I don't like it when you do that. Means you're touching yourself, and I don't get to watch." Just for that, you nose the square of his jaw and mark him with your teeth right below his ear, sucking at the salt and sweat till it burns. "That what you were doing, Cas? Thinkin' about me while you pump that juicy meat stick of yours?"

"And I'm the one with the terrible pick-up lines?" Doesn't stop that dick of his from twitching when he shoves the lube in your hands so you can slick the both of you up real nice and sloppy. You know he's veering towards the edge when he barks, "Get up. _Now._ "

Fuck, it drives you crazy when he gets all smite-y on you.

The shock of cold stainless steel against your ass cheeks is almost just as effective, zapping you with a brief moment of lucidity when the pots and pans clatter onto the floor. "Dude, you know I scrubbed down the entire kitchen this morning."

" _Dean…_ " he whines into your neck, worming a couple of greased-up fingers into your hole until you absolutely do not fucking whimper like the fucking baby you totally aren't.

(Twice. Probably three times. It gets a little fuzzy after he starts plowing into you. Lucidity's overrated, anyway.)

"Priorities," you pant. "Right."

For the record, it ends up only taking 58 seconds.

*****

"Mornin', Sammy."

Your brother's in full caveman mode when he enters the kitchen, rummaging through the icebox for the last of the orange juice and grunting a "Muhrnngh," which you're pretty sure just means, "Feed me."

The carton doesn't even reach his mouth before he notices the Clorox on the counter. "Um…" He rubs his eyes. "Didn't you clean in here yesterday?"

Wait for it—

"Oh, ugh… _gross,_ Dean."

—and there it is.

Just to put that cherry on top, you snap the rubber gloves against Cas' perfectly formed, jalapeño tootin' ass.

Sam: exit stage left.


End file.
